


Life's a Beach

by onthewingsoficarus



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: A Week at the Beach, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, M/M, No More Resets, Peace, Post-Pacifist Route, Reader has a Dog!, Romance, Slight chance of angst because I can't help myself ever, Summer Love, beachin', obviously, positivity, puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onthewingsoficarus/pseuds/onthewingsoficarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say the cure for anything is saltwater--sweat, tears, or the sea. </p>
<p>Why not all three?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life's a Beach

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this hopefully-adorable little fic! I wanted to do something a little happier while I'm also writing Halo-Heavy, just to keep my mood up. So I hope y'all will enjoy it too!  
> Thank you for stopping by and reading, as always! :)

The tears don’t start until I’m carving a path through the heart of the city. I held it in for a good two hours, listening to the top 40 radio station and the rhythmic _thud-thud—thud-thud_ of my car passing over the pavement below. Really, I was subjected to tens of thousands of commercials in a row, followed by about one or two songs, and repeat. Maybe that’s the straw that eventually broke the camel’s back. Or maybe it was the look my co-pilot and best canine companion, Aster, gave me when I checked on him for the millionth time. It also could have been when a Silverado, silver like his, pulled up to me at the gas station and I let myself drum up a little hope that maybe he’d followed me. But really, I didn’t want that; so why did I let myself believe that I did?

 

In the end, the catalyst really doesn’t matter all that much. I’m still alone in my mid-size SUV, blubbering to some old-school Maroon 5 about how “she will be loved” and thoroughly, deeply hating everything about myself.

 

That’s sad, huh?

 

See, I’m stubborn as they come. So, instead of sitting on my ass at home, burying myself face-deep in ice cream, and saving myself a shit-pot full of money, I’m on my way to Florida for a beach trip that was supposed to be meant for two. Well, three, if Aster’s counted. So, three it is.

 

Last year around this same time, I put down a good chunk of cash towards the rental of a small beachfront house on this remote little island. I’d scoped it out online, fallen in love with the modernist décor, the tiny interior, and the _beautiful_ view of the ocean, framed out in what’s almost a whole wall of windows. Six months later, I laid out the last little bit of the deposit, trusting in a couple years of consistency from him that, yes, this year would be no different from the others. We’d have a lovely time, and this time I’d get to show him my childhood vacation spot. Everything’d been going great: recent promotion on my end, successful operation on Aster’s tummy tumor, put in an offer on that house we’d been looking at in the neighborhood we could maybe-possibly raise our eventual kids in.

 

I remember very early on in the relationship, I mentioned that cheating was a deal-breaker and he laughed, saying something along the lines of “that’d never happen with me, don’t worry”.

 

Yeah, right.

 

Aster huffs a sweet sigh, laying his head over the center console and pressing his cold nose against my arm. Snuffling and smiling, I move one hand away from the steering wheel to card through his fur. He’s the only childhood friend who’s carried over, and at ten years old his pitch black fur hasn’t faded one bit in its luster, aside from an adorable greying around his muzzle that gives him the impression of a sweet old man-dog. He’d never forgive me if I’d have forgone this trip. Car rides typically aren’t his thing, but he’s always been able to figure out when I’m headed to the beach and behaves for the entire duration of these sojourns, for some strange reason (probably by the particularly massive amount of shit I drag along).

 

“Want to sniff it out, buddy?” I extend the offer since I’ve seen a glimpse of that heavenly blue water through the trees, and he instantly lifts his head. “Okay.” Bumping the window down just enough for him to stick his head out, I glance over just for an instant to watch that huge doggie-grin open up wide across his muzzle, unable to keep the smile off my own face at the sight. And that’s why I came down here, I remind myself. It’s easier to find happiness in the little things when you’re beachside. And that’s exactly what I need right now.

 

Moments later, I hit the miles-long bridge, the last leg of the trip onto the island. I roll my own window down, hit full in the face with the luscious salt air and sighing happily, sure there’s no better scent in the world. The digital thermometer readout on my dashboard drops about ten degrees as we cruise straight over the ocean, settling at a pleasant 85°F as the tires find purchase on the island. No more tears, not right now, I command myself, sitting up straight in the seat in spite of my aching back.

 

Things are slower to change here on the island than on mainland, but the inclusion of monsters appears to have gone against that trend. As I pull up to a stop sign, I motion at least three families of all different species of them through the crosswalk, smiling and waving back when they raise their hands to thank me for following the law and not being a dick. They look to be at ease, and I’m happy that they, out of anybody, have found this relatively secret little hideaway along the Florida coast. Rolling on toward the rental property company’s main office, I wonder if some of them may have taken up residence here, away from most prying eyes in the general public. I don’t blame them if they have; fuck, I’d like to as well.

 

One year ago also happens to mark the return of monsters from the Underground to the Surface. The overall reaction initially was fear, and that hasn’t completely abated in everyone quite yet. But it’s being worked on. Having a human ambassador likely helped, as did the political atmosphere at the time, and those factors have remained the same up to this point. So, altogether, the transition’s gone fairly well, all things considered. Any hostility between our species has been one-sided, namely with the humans as the aggressors. Sure, I was skeptical initially, along with just about every damn body on the planet. But all my interactions so far have been pretty pleasant.

 

“Hey, I’m checking in.” I report to the drive through attendant, smiling as I fish out my wallet for my ID.

 

“Awesome! What residence will you be staying at?” A geometric monster lady speaks up, taking the offering of my ID and entering the information into her computer.

 

“I think it’s called Sol Seaker or something. The name’s not spelled like you’d think it should be; I think they were trying to do a pun there.” I lean a little out of my car toward the lady to talk at a more comfortable volume instead of yelling across the space.

 

“Probably.” She laughs a little, passing my ID back to me before handing over a large manila envelope. “Here you are! Your gate pass and key are included in there, along with all the information about the island. If you’ll note as well, we’ve recently passed a Leave No Trace ordinance to protect the sea turtles hatching. So, make sure to read that over before enjoying the beach. All that said, I hope you have a wonderful time!”

 

“Thank you!” I call out, settling the envelope on the center console to pull away from the window and allow the next customer to roll forward. After digging out the gate pass and the house key, I cart myself and Aster on down the road to the residential area of the island. When I present the pass to the machine at the gate, it’s just a few more minutes of suffering in the car.

 

Sol Seaker appears as advertised, if slightly weathered by the corrosive salt air. It’s hard to keep anything pristine for long out here, but if that’s the trade-off for living at the beach, I’d take it any day. White walls, brown tiled roof, shit-ton of windows, home for the week.

 

“Aster, c’mon!” I encourage him, heading around the car to open up the passenger’s door for him. Since he’s aged, he’s typically resistant to getting out of the car on his own, but it’s like the island instills new youth in him whenever we can make it down. Aster flops on out rather ungracefully, grinning all goofy at me and whining under his breath. “I know, in a minute. Let me unload the car.” I promise him, leading him by the collar up to the house.

 

Like most houses here, Sol Seaker is propped up on stilts so that the surf would hopefully pass beneath the house in the case of a hurricane or other tropical system. So the first set of stairs is particularly grueling. I unlock the front door, but don’t allow myself any time to look around. Things look, again, as advertised on first glance. Aster trots himself on inside and takes up watch at the backdoor, his tail sweeping the floor as he waits patiently for me.

 

“Goof.” I remark affectionately before shutting the door behind me and bouncing back down the stairs.

  
That energy effectively dies after several trips to and from the car bearing all my luggage. Hauling all of it in one trip isn’t feasible by any means, but I still make an attempt each time, nearly ripping my arms clean off my shoulders. I manage to keep my body fully intact however, settling once all of my crap’s inside and busying myself rather slowly by refrigerating all of the cold items I brought along. Aster looks on tolerantly, returning my smiles with eager tail-thumps.

 

“Almost ready, buddy…” The promise sends him scattering over to his bag of toys with a happy bounce in his gait. “That’s right, you pick what you wanna play with. Just hang on.” I cast a short, critical look over the rest of the luggage. Resolving to haul some ass, I gather up my bag and quickly drag it into the bedroom. Sure, I’ll have to unpack a bit later, but _the beach._

 

“Wanna go, Aster?” I call as I kick off my tennis shoes and slip into a pair of flip-flops, grinning at the booming woof that echoes my way. “What was that? Are you ready?” Aster barks more insistently, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor as he paces. I glance briefly in the mirror, gathering my hair up into a bad attempt at a messy bun before stepping back into the living area. Aster looks up at me with those big brown eyes, smiling around a frisbee clamped in his mouth. “Oh, alright. Let’s go!” I return his big old grin, gathering up his leash before opening the back door.

 

The wrap-around porch drops off a set of stairs, trailing a little boardwalk into the dunes, where the pathway turns to sand. Aster knows the drill, patient in his gait, waiting on me to survey the area once I arrive at the end of the boardwalk. No one else, at least not for now. Which means no leash just yet. Smiling to myself, I kick off my flip-flops, gathering them up and stepping straight into the sand. There’s no denying the contented sigh that escapes me; I’d be alright if I died with the feeling of sand between my toes.

 

“Give.” I tell Aster after a few more paces out onto the open beach, and he presents the frisbee to me. “Go on, go!” I take the frisbee and feint a throw; he runs off like a shot before glancing back and freezing, barking anxiously. Grinning at his enthusiasm, I toss the disc his way, a lofty and light throw. Aster rushes up to it, bounding into the air to pull it down, and hurrying himself right back to me.

 

“Good boy!” I call after him, patting his side when he tries to wind himself between my legs. “Very good boy. Let’s go again, yeah?” Aster barks jovially in reply, rushing off again when I offer to throw the frisbee.

 

I lose myself in the motions, in the gentle salt breeze and the soft crush of the waves at my side. I occasionally note to myself that life hasn’t been going as planned. But every time Aster brings that frisbee back, he reminds me I’ve got him. And like always, he’ll be there for me.

 

As Aster tires, he begins to get lackadaisical about his returns, prompting me to use more commands to reel him back. A few more people head out onto the beach, but they still give us more than enough space, heading off on their post-arrival walks. We just happened to get here before most everyone else. So I just keep minding my business, keeping his leash close as I toss him another—.

 

Fuck.

 

“Aster! Aster, no, no, come back here! Aster, _come_ , oh shit—!” I take off running after Aster, honestly bewildered that he even has enough energy to dash away on me. Sure, I overthrew him, but why’s he running _this_ way?!

 

Oh no. There’re people.

 

Our next door neighbors have apparently also arrived.

 

“Aster! _Come_ , Aster!” He slows to a trot as he nears the neighbor, clearly not giving a damn about anything I’m saying. There’s no way I can intervene from this distance, even gaining ground, so I pray to whoever’s listening that our neighbor’s a dog person. Fuck. Aster lumbers right over and drops the disc in the sand at the neighbor’s feet, giving his adorable doggy grin, and I can only be terrified that this is the last time I’ll see his smile.

 

The man—a short-ish skeleton monster, inappropriately dressed for the weather in a blue parka, I note—half-turns to look down at Aster, grinning back at Aster and bending down to pick up the frisbee. I assume he can hear me coming, as he glances over his shoulder to catch my eye.

 

“I’m so sorry!” I finally get to Aster, taking ahold of his collar immediately so he can’t run again.

 

“hi, sorry. i’m sans.” Did he just—the would-be ear-splitting grin indicates that yes, he did just.

 

“Oh, God...” I can’t stop my free hand from hitting my face briefly. “No… I’m ____, and I see Aster’s already introduced himself.” Aster’s tail sweeps the sand around him as he beams all big and happy, the dope.

 

“it was nice of him to take paws to meet me. i feel honored.” The skeleton monster—Sans manages a wink with his apparently-malleable skull. The motion’s a little surprising, but doesn’t stop me from snorting like the fool I am. I clap my hand over my mouth; I can’t believe I just did that.

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry, that was funny. Or punny, whichever you prefer.” That’s lame, and I know it, wincing to myself and standing up straight when it becomes clear that Aster’s not going anywhere with Sans holding his frisbee. He chuckles lightly in appreciation of my effort, and for some reason my lips keep pulling up in a smile. What the hell’s that about?

 

“so, you're our next-door neighbor for the week?” When I nod, Sans breathes another laugh. “that’s hilarious.”

 

Sure is.


End file.
